Wednesday, September 14, 2016
I've suffered a foot-related disease most of my life and, at almost 70, have not yet found a cure. This morning two socks were discarded into the waste paper basket in the bathroom.
Both, in the top of the drawer from a recent wash, had growing holes in the heels.
I'm not sure if they matched. Probably not. I just know they were black and thick enough to wear in my outside boots.
In the early morning these days when I do my chores, grass is generally wet, so boots are needed.
Inside those big roomy boots, my socks need to stay in place. Said socks do not need to slip further down inside my boots with every step.
Nothing drives me crazier than to be halfway down the lane, leading a horse, when a sock top suddenly decides to pick that time to ease its way down my ankle, over my heel and then slither its way to my toes.
By this time, I stop in place, lean down, grab that sock top, pull the damn thing back into place and move on, only to have the entire cycle repeat itself.
Not an easy task while also holding on to the horse anxious to go to pasture.
So, bulky socks are essential for my morning chores. Thin summer socks and barn boots do not mix on fall or winter or spring days.
Upon throwing those two holey socks away this morning, I had to dig through the one of my two sock drawers in the bathroom.
Early in the morning, my attempt at prying open that drawer presents a challenge. I'm not quite awake because I haven't had my coffee, and all I really want to do is get dressed, and get out there to start sipping on that coffee and waking up.
But nine times out of ten, the drawer decides to be obstinate. Of course, the fact that it is stuffed full of 800 socks might have something to do with its reluctance to open.
And, among those 800 socks, do you think I can find two matching black, bulky socks to wear in my barn boots???
Oh, I can thumb through dozens of black socks of different sizes and constitutions. Some have short tops, some, long. Others have holes in the heels or holes in the toes.
Whenever I find most of these in my morning sock search, I wonder why the heck I kept them to take up so much room in my sock drawer.
Usually they live to inhabit in the drawer yet another day or more because early in the morning, I'm not into sorting.
I would guess that about 90 percent of those 800 socks never get worn.
They just live in that drawer to be seen and handled only when SHE'S looking for a PAIR of socks. And, at such times, SHE'S usually pretty impatient in her search, so these socks get little or no attention---just a gasp and a dirty look as they're tossed to the floor and she furiously resumes her search. Later, they just get stuffed back in the drawer.
When I see many of these socks deemed deficient for my needs that day, I wonder what the heck I was thinking when I purchased them. Why would I ever wear most of those socks in the first place, and, in many cases, I don't even remember buying most of them.
But they live in that drawer, and they always cause challenges when I'm on the hunt.
A couple of times over the years, probably after an especially frustrating sock search or a rainy day, I've returned later in the day to the sock drawer with a garbage bag and loaded it up with dozens of improper socks with holes or without a life partner.
I really do not believe that most socks were meant to have a life partner at least at my house. In my case, these socks end up as singles soon after I bring them home from the store as seemingly well-matched pairs. They may function as a couple maybe a couple of times and then something mysterious happens. One of the two has flown the coop.
I have no idea if it happens in the washer or the dryer, but I do know that they seldom come home to roost with their partner.
Life experience has taught me that this phenomenon is fairly universal. Most socks aren't in to mating for life.
So, after the honeymoon, they're out there somewhere, probably philandering and probably happy that they no longer live in my sock drawer with their original mate.
Actually, I must be fair. There IS one pair of socks in my overstuffed drawer that has remained faithful to the core. Every single time I launch off on an early morning search for a suitable match with no holes in the heels or the toes, I can count on them (both of them) to be there.
That would be the Border Collie/sheep combo which a former student sent to me a few years ago. Thank you, Karren.
Their unique gray, white and black appearance doesn't always fit my intentions for the particular footgear I happen to be wearing that day, but their bond is solid and they're always stay where they belong.
I don't know if it's that Border Collie tendency to remain ever vigilant, keeping the sheep in their proper place, but I do know that I appreciate their loyalty and constancy and the fact that they're still as intact as the day I received them.
Why can't all socks behave this way?
Whatever the case, I can report that I did find a pair of black, bulky socks with no holes this morning. That brief flare-up of sockitis soon went away as I pulled them on to my feet. Later, during chores, they behaved in my boots, and my feet stay dry and warm.
And, that's a good thing.